Paperbacks and Peppermint
by kickingbutt
Summary: Sakuno is an aspiring artist, preparing for an upcoming gallery. Ryoma is an apprentice to Haritatsu, the bookbinder. Two people and two chance meetings may equal more than just staring across the bookstore aisle. AR. RyoSaku.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If I owned The Prince of Tennis, I wouldn't be on

**AN:** For those of you following my other fic, Wedding Blues, sorry for working on something else! I tried to focus, honest! But this just wouldn't leave me alone. This was inspired by the cover picture. Actually, this has been sitting unfinished on my computer along with one or two other fics since before I even started getting ideas for Wedding Blues. There is another chapter to this that is almost finished, but this fic shouldn't extend beyond that.

* * *

Ryoma inwardly groaned. That girl was sitting in that spot by the window again. She was seated at the single coffee table in the shop, barely large enough for two people, completely engrossed in whatever she was reading. She had been like that for the past two hours. The only regular customer - presently, the only customer at all - refused to buy a single book. Poor old Haritatsu would be so disappointed if he knew how much of his binding went to waste - not that Ryoma was actually going to tell him.

Ryoma readjusted his rectangular, red, plastic frames as he stood behind the check-out counter to try to distinguish the title of whatever poem or romantic novella she was studying across the room. He suppressed another groan when he found that he couldn't. It was time to visit the optometrist again.

He hadn't always worn glasses. At the start of high school, his vision had been perfect. In middle school, it had been better than perfect. However, by the time he entered college, all that reading in low light had added up. He took time away from tennis and having fun to be a good student, and this was how the fates repaid him. They took away his sight. He'd tried contacts during his senior year of high school, but they proved useless when his cat kept eating them.

No matter that the title of the work she held in her hands was blurred, he could still make out the animated nuances in her expressions. He saw fear, laughter, sorrow, and enchantment dance behind the twitches of her petal pink lips as he watched her at the other end of the aisle of books lining his pathway to her.

Books.

That was how it all started. There were so many of them - old, gold-trimmed, leather-bound hardbacks that smelled deliciously of decay and fresh paperbacks with pure white pages ready to unfold new tales of untold adventure. Ryoma had always enjoyed them while volunteering in his school library, but only recently had he discovered their true glory. They consumed him as he consumed them - a dollop of dystopia, a sprinkle of suspense, a rubbing of romance, bathed in action, luring him into whirlpools of words. The girl at the other side of the shop had her nose buried deeply within a rather large, white paperback. Her nut brown hair cascaded over her shoulder, gathered carelessly into thick twin braids that glinted maple red in the skylight, adorned with small flowers, until the waterfall ended in loose ringlets.

Finding his resolve, his navy Converse began to shuffle around the counter towards her. He had one palm on the round-topped birch, but she still didn't look up. Her thin fingers didn't quiver in their grip of the novel as he focused on her.

"Hey," he smirked down at her, "do you ever plan on actually buying a book?"

Finally, she looked up. She placed her book down, spine up for view on the table. He saw bewildered redwood eyes behind oversized, yellow-framed lenses. Her small mouth opened, but only air rushed out as Ryoma stared at her expectantly. Very quickly, a brilliant flush overtook her features.

"I-I didn't realize," she struggled.

"It's fine," Ryoma sighed, taking the seat across from her. Honestly, he wasn't a predator. She didn't have to look that much like a deer caught in the headlights. She probably wasn't more than a couple years younger than him. Beneath the minute table, his jean-clad legs were forced to brush against her bare knees. He eyed the book laying face down across from him. "You like Marukami?"

"Um, so far," she replied nervously, the color under her cheeks slowly fading away. She took off her glasses and hung them from her collar.

"Yeah, he's pretty cool," Ryoma said nonchalantly. Then he pointed at the book. "You know, you shouldn't put the book down like that. It kills the spine."

"S-sorry-"

And then he was up and away. He returned from behind the counter a few moments later with a strip of paper in his hand and a paper bag with the logo, "Haritatsu's." He snatched up the book, put the paper between her saved pages, and placed the book inside the bag.

"Here," he said, thrusting the bag in her face, "use a bookmark from now on."

"B-but I can't! I don't have any money," she said, frantically pushing the bag away.

Ryoma sighed again. "You still have a ways to go," he said. Before she could blink, the bag was in her arms, and the boy from behind the counter was pulling her out of her chair and pushing her out the store. She briefly glanced at his nametag - Ryoma...

Later in the comfort of her own apartment, she closely examined the strip of paper the bookkeeper had stuck between her pages. On it, she confirmed his name. Scribbled beside it in blue pen were a phone number and a mischievous "I won't tell if you won't."

"Hey, Sakuno, who's Ryoma?" asked a high-pitched voice behind her. Sakuno yelped as her roommate placed a hand on her shoulder from behind their shared sofa.

"Tomoka, don't sneak up behind me like that! You scared me," Sakuno whined. Tomoka laughed enthusiastically.

"Sorry," she said between chuckles. She walked around to sit beside Sakuno on the couch.

"When did you get home from work anyway?" Sakuno asked after recovering from having the living daylights scared out of her. Tomoka was currently at the same university as Sakuno studying law, but due to the fact that she came from a family that had to support three other children, she was forced to work part-time to pay for her education.

"Just now," Tomoka replied as she sat down. Then she took the paper in Sakuno's hand to hold it up to the light despite her roommate's protests. "'I won't tell if you won't'? I won't tell _what_ if you won't?"

"Hey Tomo, give it back," Sakuno said, trying to wrestle back her bookmark.

"Oh my gosh, you met a guy? Did something happen?" Tomoka questioned eagerly, still grasping the paper above her head despite her friend's pleas.

"Nothing at all," Sakuno answered as she recalled the boy's sharp golden eyes peering down at her from behind red frames, "just give it back!"

"No way! You think you can wrestle down a hot yoga master?" Tomoka teased, unaffected by the struggle while Sakuno had already begun panting. It really wasn't fair. Tomoka had always been naturally athletic, but this job had put her in super-shape. She was still in her workout clothes. Sakuno, on the other hand, had always been clumsy when it came to anything somewhat physical despite having a tennis coach for a grandmother.

"Ow, that's my hair! Fine," Sakuno conceded, going back to her original position sitting on the sofa, "but nothing happened. He just gave me a book."

"Who?" Tomoka feigned innocence.

"Ryoma, of course," Sakuno cried, and then blushed. She looked down as Tomoka returned the bookmark with a knowing grin, wider than a Cheshire cat's.

Tomoka scooted closer to her long-time friend to give her a zealous pat on the back. "And here I was worried that you'd be forever alone, and we'd never go on double dates together! Judging from that blush you've got, he must've been hot."

"Tomoka, I'm not calling him," Sakuno deadpanned.

"What?!" Tomoka practically shrieked. She grabbed tightly onto Sakuno's shoulders and shook them. "But you have to call him," she whined.

"I'm not doing it. It's crazy."

"C'mon Sakuno, do something crazy for once. You're young," she coaxed. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could be a crazed serial killer, and he could trace my call to find out where we live to murder the both of us," she rambled meekly.

"Sakuno, call."

"Now?"

"No, not now," Tomoka shrieked. "You have to wait at least until tomorrow, so he doesn't think you're a crazy stalker!"

"Oh, fine," Sakuno finally relented.

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**AN:** Dude, HIPSTERS!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** To those of you reading my other story, Wedding Blues, don't worry! I promise I haven't forgotten it! I just wanted to finish this up since I actually started working on it before I even started thinking about Wedding Blues. I just had the vision of Ryoma and Sakuno as hipsters (oh, ironic eye-wear). I apologize for any typos. Enjoy!

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Sakuno had tried to call the boy from the bookstore a week ago. Some strange guy with a Kansai accent picked up, and then he went into a ten minute long tangent about some Super Ultra Great Delicious Mountain-something before saying he had to go because his girlfriend needed his help taking care of a beetle. It just had to be a prank.

She could not repress a sigh as she heard the entrance bells ring when she stepped into her favorite coffee shop. Of course, she never actually ordered coffee. No matter how much confectioner's sugar and cream she added or how light a roast she ordered, she could never escape the bitter brown aftertaste the hot liquid left on her tongue.

Tea was her beverage of choice - white, green, herbal, or even black. It just left her feeling lighter. The crisp freshness of green tea and lotus, hot or cold, made her always feel cleaner. She loved the sweet warmth of vanilla rooibos, better than hot chocolate. Mango Ceylon and cardamom allowed her to travel to the land south of the Himalayas. The flowery scent of rose petal and lavender, with just a drop of honey, was enough to let her pretend as if she belonged in the powder room at Versailles with Marie Antoinette during the baroque era - before the revolution and everyone getting guillotined, of course.

Right now, she could definitely use some peppermint as a pick-me-up. She was more exhausted than the walking dead. Lately, she'd been too weary to even put in her contacts - not that that was necessarily a bad thing. While she was painting, she had a tendency to rub her dyed hands against her tired eyes. Wearing glasses prevented the mistake, the sting, the tears, and the string of curses as colorful as her paint palette. She hadn't peeked in the mirror yet this morning, but she was fairly certain a few splotches of sunshine yellow and cornflower blue were still visible in her trademark braids.

The university was holding a gallery in exactly one month, and all submissions were due in less than 48 hours. The theme was love. She was painting a landscape in oil, the place where she'd spent her summer breaks as a child. The place held a special place in her heart, and she wanted to do it justice. She had worked through the night to make every flower follow the Fibonacci sequence, every blade of grass sharp, every detail precise.

She was interrupted from her thoughts as someone strode in front of her in the line to the counter. Normally, she would let something so petty go, but right now, she really needed some tea, dammit.

"Excuse me," she said with all the politeness she could muster, as she tapped the line-cutter on the shoulder. "I was actually - you!"

The stranger turned around to reveal cool amber eyes.

"You!" she exclaimed once more, pointing her index finger at the center of his face.

Ryoma blinked, unaffected, and gently pushed her shaking finger away from his face. "It's rude to point, little girl."

"Rude to- little girl?! I'm probably older than you! And you're the one who cut in front of me," she said shrilly.

"You weren't even standing in line," he replied calmly.

"What?! Of course I was!"

"No," he said gesturing to a spot a few feet away, "you were all the way over there looking like you were going to tip over."

"I was not-"

"Is anyone going to order something here?" interrupted the barista. The girl looked to be in about high school. Her short black hair was gelled into spikes, and her left eyebrow kept twitching.

"I will," called a short and stubby man with a rolled up newspaper under his arm. He swiftly made his way around the arguing pair toward the counter to order the cheapest blend available.

"Hey," Sakuno cried. The man, facing the counter, turned to look at her and shrugged noncommittally before placing his order.

"Now look what you've done," Ryoma groaned.

"You know what? I don't have to listen to anything you say since you're probably lying anyway," Sakuno said harshly.

"How does you not being able to figure out where the line is make me a liar?"

"I'm not the one who gives people prank numbers in Kansai to call!"

"What are you talking about?" Ryoma asked.

Sakuno's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. First, this jerk had the nerved to prank her with a fake number. Next, he cut her off in line for her much needed peppermint tea. Now he had the audacity feign ignorance! "What?!"

"Do I know you?" Ryoma asked, annoyance beginning to crack through his expressionless mask.

If not for the fact that everyone in the small coffee shop was starting to watch them, Sakuno could have shrieked in his ears. Instead, she furiously fumbled in her patchwork bag before pulling out a familiar white paperback. She retrieved a slip of white paper from between its slightly battered pages and thrust it in his face. "See," she said, her fingers quivering.

"Oh," Ryoma said after inspecting the slip, smacking his palm with his fist, "I remember now. You're the girl from the shop who never bought anything and never called!"

"I did call." She recited the number, angrily enunciating each digit. "Some guy with a Kansai accent picked up ranting about some SuperUltraMountain," she struggled for a moment, "thing! And beetles!"

"That's a seven, not a one," Ryoma said, calmly pointing at the paper.

There was silence for a moment.

And another moment.

And a few more moments.

To Sakuno, it could have been an eternity.

Oftentimes, when Sakuno Ryuzaki was embarrassed, she would redden and splutter. She'd struggle to form coherent words and stutter out incessant apologies. She would mumble and ramble about the most irrelevant things, but for one of the first times in her life, she was completely blank.

"Oh," she said simply, suddenly feeling very small.

"Next in line please," called the girl from behind the counter again.

"I'm s-so sorry," she said softly. "Here." She walked up to the counter. "L-let me buy you a drink."

"It's fine," Ryoma said.

"No, I insist," she said, and then turning to the register, "one hot peppermint tea please sweetened with honey and a cinnamon bun." She turned back to him as she began fumbling in her purse again. "What do you want?"

"No really, it's fine," he said, running a hand through dark, messy hair.

"How about chai tea then?" she asked as she continued rummaging through her bag for her money. Ryoma grunted in acquiescence as the spiky-haired girl behind the counter punched something into the register. Honestly, it was a simple mistake, and now the girl was just causing more trouble for herself. From the wobbly way she walked and the streaks of paint in her hair, he ascertained today was not her day.

"Here's your total."

"Thanks," Sakuno smiled, "just a second. Let me get my wallet." She continued to search, and then she stopped abruptly with her hand still in the bag. Standing a little behind her, Ryoma noticed the slight red glow on her cheeks. "Um, I seem to have forgotten my wall-"

Without thinking, Ryoma handed the barista his card to swipe.

"Thank you," she glanced at the card, "Mr. Echizen. Your order should be ready in a couple minutes." She handed back the card as Sakuno burned heavily with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," Sakuno said as Ryoma placed a hand on the small of her back to maneuver her toward a table to wait. She sounded almost on the verge of tears.

"Are you okay?" Ryoma asked as he sat her down. If possible, she blushed even harder, and droplets of water began to well in her big, redwood brown eyes. Of course, she was not okay!

"I'm sorry," she said, taking off her glasses to rub her eyes. "It's just been a tough week - ouch!" Paint had gotten in her eyes again.

"Why don't you go to the restroom and wash up," Ryoma suggested, as Sakuno begrudgingly left her chair.

The coffee shop's restroom was small but clean. She looked in the mirror for a moment before shuddering in revulsion. She really was a mess.

Slowly, she allowed the cool water to run over the curves and crevices of her face, and she brought her hands to the sink to let them be washed too.

When she returned from the washroom, she felt refreshed. The scent of fresh peppermint and a steaming cinnamon bun tickled her nose. She sat down across from the boy who had bought her tea and breathed a sigh. "So your name is Ryoma?"

"Ryoma Echizen, what's yours?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.

"Sakuno Ryuzaki," she said. He eyed her with a strange mix of wariness and concern. "Um, when you gave me your number last week, I, um," she swallowed hard, "meant to call."

For a second, he smiled.

"So, um, if you still wanted to, I don't know, I just figured since you gave me your number you might want to -"

He cut her off.

"You still have a long way to go."

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**AN: **I apologize if you were wanting more, but this is actually where I planned on ending the story. I just wanted Ryoma and Sakuno to come to an understanding at the end and make a connection. I might post an epilogue one day that takes place a year or more from this point, but for now, it's done.


End file.
